Page 111 of My Only

“Harper,” he said as he returned to our table, a Vernon’s takeout bag in one hand.

Harper’s smile stretched.

But my father didn’t return it.

“I hate to do this to you, young lady,” he continued, tone pleasant, but weighted. “But I’ve been trying to get a little of Hassani’s time for weeks now. And you all have been keeping him busy.”

Harper let out a soft giggle. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, please.” My father’s smile widened, but there was no humor behind it. “I’m sure what you all are doing is wonderful work.”

His eyes slid to me then returned on her.

“But I do need to steal him from you tonight.”

The glance he gave me was quick. But I felt it.

A warning.

A command.

A finality.

“Oh.” Harper’s smile wavered.

Then she turned to me, gesturing toward the table. “Aren’t you waiting for Ayla’s dessert, Hassani?”

“Yeah.” My voice felt rough. “I already ordered it. Just waiting for it to come out.”

“Why don’t you let Harper enjoy that dessert?”

My father’s voice was casual.

Too casual.

His attention shifted back to Harper. “You’re gonna love it. I promise.”

He smiled, big.

“It’s warm and buttery. Has a creamy mascarpone cheese that’ll stay on your mind for days.” He laughed, holding up the takeout bag. “Hassani’s mother loves it so much, she sent me here at this late hour to get it.”

Harper’s grin faltered.

But she nodded. “Okay then.”

Without missing a beat, my father reached into his back jean pocket, pulled out his wallet, and placed a $100 bill on the table.

“Everything is on me,” he told her smoothly.

“Oh!” Harper let out a nervous laugh. “You don’t have to?—”

“I insist.”

His tone was polite.

But final.

“It’s the least I can do for interrupting and taking Hassani with me.”

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